Christmas With Frontline
by turbomagnus
Summary: The members of G.I. Joe Frontline spend their first Christmas together
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own the original character members of Frontline, but not the official Hasbro-owned G.I. Joe characters.

* * *

"Christmas With Frontline"  
By J.T. Magnus, "Turbo"

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"We three kings of Orient are, tried to smoke a rubber cigar, it was loaded and exploded and we traveled oh so far..."

Havoc took a step back as Blaze and Turbo continued.

"We two kings of Orient are, tried to smoke a rubber cigar, it was loaded and exploded and we traveled oh so far..."

Now Blaze stood back and left Turbo to finish.

"I one king of Orient am, tried to smoke a rubber cigar..."

He paused and turned to his brothers, "You know, cigar doesn't really rhyme with am."

Blaze chuckled and shook his head, "NOW he realizes it. That's why the third verse is 'rubber ham', bro."

From a perch on a stool nearby, Beachhead smiled to himself as he looked around. Low-Light and Zandar were arguing over how, if he existed, Santa did his infiltration and exfiltration. Sabre had taken guard duty up top.

'I actually have to agree with Turbo on that guy - he's a little too self-important for this... life.'

The brothers Victors were in the Mess Hall's kitchen, working on what they claimed was a traditional family Christmas dish, which left Sci-Fi and Fix-It to decorate the tree...

Beachhead scoffed, with those two doing it, they'd be lucky if it didn't explode, he almost envied Ghostrider for having to do some kind of special duty - even if it was Christmas Eve.

The Ranger reached over to a radio and turned it on, "If there's going be music, kiddies, leave it to the professionals."

With a sigh, Turbo stepped over to one of the 'windows' that were really video screens on the walls that recieved camera feed from topside - supposedly to reduce the effects of being underground for extended periods of time - and rested a hand on the wall, staring out the 'window.'

Noticing the change from the usual attitude of his commanding officer, Beachhead slipped off his stool and walked over to him, "Something wrong, Major?"

"Nothing to worry yourself about, Sergeant."

Beachhead nodded, "In that case, is something wrong, J.T.?"

Turbo smiled slightly, accepting the offer of someone to talk to, "It's the song, Wayne. 'Let It Snow', I've always considered it a romantic song."

"And you're having problems in the romance department?"

"You could say that. Erin's still upset that I joined the military without even talking to her about it."

"She, uh..."

"Military, Wayne. As far as she knows, I'm in training - she doesn't know about my commission and command..."

"And it's a season for loved ones and right now your loved one isn't happy with you, and that song is just making it worse."

Turbo chuckled against his will, "Careful, Beach', or someone might start to think you're not just the pig-headed drill instructor you let on that you are."

"Nah a chance a that," Beachhead answered, purposely thickening his Alabama accent, "Ah'm too good fer that."

Then the Sergeant returned to seriousness, "So, what are you thinking of doing about it?"

"To be honest? I'm not sure anymore. Lately we've been on the outs more and more... A couple weeks before I agreed to General Colton's offer she got upset because of how I was trimming the bushes out front of my apartment."

"Explosives?" Anyone else, it'd be strange, but within the short month he had known Turbo, he'd come to realize that nothing was strange when it came to the Major.

"No, a chain I was using as a whip."

"Ah."

Turbo turned slightly to look at him, "What's 'Ah'?"

"'Ah' as in 'Ah, makes sense, it's like you.' ...But she got upset about that?"

Turbo nodded, "It's been the little things more and more."

"And?" Beachhead prompted.

"At times it seems more like she's going through the motions."

"What do you think it means?"

"I don't know, Wayne... Home troubles, maybe - with her parents. School troubles... I don't know," he paused and turned back to looking out the 'window', "I'm not sure if I want to know."

"WHO WANTS WALNUTS?" Rev shouted from the kitchen door, "Mama Victors' own Candied Walnut recipe, special for Christmas only."

"Come on, Turbo," Beachhead said, "Let's try and get some before they're all gone."

Turbo didn't get a chance to respond because the Christmas tree started sparking and caught on...

"FIRE!"

Instinctively, Blaze grabbed the eggnog bowl and threw it towards the tree...

"No! The eggnog is..."

...And the fire burned higher and brighter.

"...Spiked," Sci-Fi finished.

Beachhead gave him a 'command look', "And HOW would you know it was spiked, Corporal?"

"Beach! Less talk, more move!" Honda interrupted pushing past his brother with the kitchen fire extinguisher to spray the tree.

A few moments later, Turbo looked at the Christmas... ashes, "Well, that was a waste."

"The tree?" Zandar asked.

"No, the eggnog."

"Sabre to Turbo. ...You're not going to believe this," Sabre's voice came over Turbo's Wristcom.

"What is it, Sabre?"

"I think I had too much of Sci-Fi's eggnog, because I think we were just buzzed by an X-19 Phantom... escorting a sleigh."

Turbo blinked and lowered his arm from his mouth, "Ghost's 'Special Duty'... You don't think..."

Beachhead blinked back, "Nah... It couldn't be..."

* * *

Merry Christmas!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: After writing "Christmas With Frontline", I realized that I had forgotten two of the Frontline members: Brick and Shooter. Let it not be said that I don't try to fill in plotholes...

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Christmas With Frontline  
"The Lost Members"  
By J.T. Magnus, "Turbo"

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"Have a good night wherever you were, Lieutenant?"

Second Lieutenant Steven Johnson, codenamed "Brick" in a smart-mouthed referance to his build, came to an abrupt stop in the top floor of the Pit, the Motor Pool.

"Major."

"You know, I may be new at this, Brick, only a month and all," Turbo shrugged, "But I'm pretty sure I didn't sign any off-base passes for last night."

"You didn't."

Turbo was a half-head shorter than the lower-ranked Frontliner, but attitude made up the difference as he stood toe-to-toe with Brick in the middle of the Motor Pool.

"In that case, give me one good reason why I shouldn't hand you over to Beachhead for the next month."

"I don't do Christmas."

"Doesn't cut it. I wanted an explanation, Brick, not an excuse. I try to be a nice guy, but if you're gonna take advantage of it, I'll have you back in the regular Army so fast we'll have to send you your bags on a seperate transport."

"It's personal, Sir," Brick answered back, making sure to add the 'sir' his commanding officer hated so much before stepping around him and continuing on to the elevator.

After all, how could he explain that the last Christmas he had celebrated had been the night his sister and his best friend had died and he couldn't find anything 'merry' or 'happy' about the day after that?

* * *

In Washington D.C., Lieutenant Shuta Go, a sniper on exchange from the Japanese military, stood in the office of the Pentagon's Special Operations Commander.

"Thank you for meeting with me today, Lieutenant. I'm sure there's other things you'd rather be doing," the three-starred General behind the desk greeted.

"If I may ask, Sir, why did you ask for me?"

The General nodded, "This has already been cleared with your commanding officers, so it's your choice, but we're forming - well, have already formed, actually - a small-scale quick-response special forces unit, with an emphasis on anti-terrorism operations..."

There was a pause, then the general finished, "And we'd like for you to be a part of it. It's not illegal, or uncommon, in fact, a similar unit in the eighties and ninties had members that were on loan from the British and Russian militaries."

The general didn't mention that technically it was the same unit, that wasn't exactly something Lieutenant Go needed to know yet.

"Take your time to think about it if you need, Lieutenant."

Shuta closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His father, a scientist, had died when he was younger and he had been raised by his uncle, Metarutaka Go, a retired Colonel. He had swore to be the best at whatever he did, and an elite group of soldiers wanted him as one of them.

"If my superiors have given permission, General, then I would be honored."

General Clayton 'Hawk' Abernathy nodded.

* * *

January 9th, 2002  
Two weeks later...

Lieutenant Shuta Go, having decided to call himself 'Shooter' in a corruption of his real name, climbed out of the humvee and thanked the blonde Master Sergeant who had driven him to the three quanoset huts that appearantly served as the base for 'Special Anti-Terrorist Task Unit Delta - Sub-Unit Foxtrot'. Shooter looked around at the surroundings, nothing but desert for miles around. Not even a motor pool, where did they keep their transportation? His distracted thoughts were interrupted when, out of nowhere, a soldier wearing a ski-mask and covered in paint started to run past him, then stopped and saluted.

"Lieutenant, sir."

Shooter looked at him for a moment.

"Master Sergeant Sneeden, sir. ' Beachhead'."

"Sergeant, I am looking for Major... Magnus?"

"Respectfully, sir, someone else will have to take you to 'im."

The lieutenant was a little surprised, "And why is that, Sergeant?"

"Well, sir, if I can't keep away from him and his team for the next... fifty-seven minutes, mine loses."

Any futher explanation was cut off by an incoming projectile that landed between the two and cover them with green paint.

"Damn."

A younger soldier in olive-drab t-shirt and jungle-pattern fatigue pants raised up from his perch atop one of the quanoset huts.

"You going to run or give up now?"

Beachhead reached a hand behind his back, then raised both hands in the air, "Ah give..."

The younger soldier slid down the side of the hut's curved roof and dropped to the ground, "Glad you could see it our way, Beach'."

"This is Lieutenant... Uh..."

"Go."

The new addition to the small group tilted his head slightly, "Go where?"

Shooter closed his eyes, unfortunately, that wasn't the first time he had that joke since he arrived in America, after a while, he had formulated a simple response, "Away."

"Oo, sorry. Lieutenants can't order Majors."

"Lieutenant, this is Major Magnus, we call him 'Turbo'."

The younger soldier, the major, nodded slightly, "'Shooter,' right? General Abernathy told us to expect you. Beachhead will show you to your quarters, right?"

"Yeah, Major," Beachhead answered, checking his watch, "One other thing..."

"Yeah?"

"Boom."

Seconds after he said that, there was a small explosion and red paint covered all three of them, adding to the green on the two lower-ranked soldiers.

Beachhead smiled under his ski-mask, "Set it up before I surrendered, Georgia... The 'old folks' still win."

"Damn," was Turbo's only comment.

Wiping paint away from his eyes, Shooter wondered what he had gotten himself into.


End file.
